


Study of An Angel's Hands

by wayward_dream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Hands, M/M, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20753117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_dream/pseuds/wayward_dream
Summary: Castiel's hands have done a lot of damage. But they've done a lot of good, too.





	Study of An Angel's Hands

Dean loves Castiel’s hands.

They’re rough, because he was a soldier, calloused and possessive as they grip onto his shoulders and drag him closer, or shove him against a wall and hold him pinned as he presses close. Marking red lines into his skin with blunt nails. Leaving imprints of fingers on his hips. And of course he bears the brand on his shoulder.

Yes, Cas’s hands are rough. Dean’s felt those knuckles split his skin and bruise his flesh. They’ve drawn his blood. Snapped his bones like toothpicks. He knows the strength in those hands, and sometimes he sees the regret of those memories haunting Cas’ eyes when he looks at Dean.

But Dean has other memories. Of those hands, gripping him tight and dragging him away from his darkest moments, when he didn’t even recognize the thing he’d become.

Those hands, cradling his burnt and blackened soul. Cauterizing, cleansing, purifying in agony until Hell’s mark was scorched away and he was a sobbing, broken man, but a man once again. 

And then those hands, the hands of an angel, caressing and weaving light into all the dark and bruised places. Weaving him back together, bit by bit. Stitching together torn and scarred flesh until it was whole and new, save the brand grace-seared into his arm. Easing the pain, smoothing down rough and raw edges.

He’s felt those hands, fingers gently touching his forehead, palm cupping his face, that familiar grace pouring into him and healing him after a hunt.

He’s felt those hands, clutching at him in Purgatory, desolately sure he didn’t deserve Dean’s forgiveness but desperately needing it all the same. The hand that let him go so he could live, because that time, he felt he didn’t deserve to be saved (that irony will never escape him).

He’s felt those hands in his hair, smoothing it down and tugging at it. Tracing stubble on his jaw. 

He’s steadied those hands on a gun, felt them minutely tremble.

He’s felt those hands caress him like he was a piece of art to be admired and revered, instead of a 40-something hunter with bowlegs and a bit of pudge on his belly.

He’s felt those hands sweep him up into surprisingly strong arms and be carried to safety.

He’s witnessed those hands heal children. Water flowers. Heal Sammy.

Yeah, Cas’ hands were crafted to be a soldier’s and a weapon’s. But they’ve grown to be healer’s hands, _lover’s_ hands. And Dean loves him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is also on my Tumblr, @wayward-writes :)


End file.
